122 rooms · levels 38–50
A massive throne stands at the far end of the room draped in shadow. The room seems to have been built from solid rock, deep within the earth. Huge curtains drape the walls of this dark chamber. An eerie silence lies heavily on your chest. You can barely make out a darkened figure sitting on the throne. Two glowing red eyes seem to stare through you. The figure stands slowly but with the greatest grace and power... A Demon God stands before you!
A trail climbs north to the top of the hill just ahead, where a village sits among green, rolling country. The long grass glistens with fresh rain and the air smells of it; the clouds overhead are breaking, though a new storm front is already building in the distance. Somewhere nearby, cows are mooing contentedly. It is all very much like a fairy tale. Back to the south the trail returns to the road. A brightly painted sign stands beside the trail and demands your attention.
You stand at the edge of a small, quaint village. The street is alive after the storm, the villagers hurrying to tidy up before the next one arrives, and an air of innocence hangs over everything. Up the street to the north a gaggle of girls is chasing a handsome young boy through the puddles. A quiet grove of trees lies just to the east, and the hill falls away to the south.
This shady grove is a lovely place to rest. The trees and flowers have been tended with the utmost love, and the cold ring of an old campfire sits in the middle of the grass. A lonely butterfly settles on your shoulder, completely fearless and trusting. The village entrance is back to the west.
The quiet little village is not so quiet here at its heart. Children run about underfoot, and a pretty woman bustles past with her cart, delivering the best milk in the country to every doorstep. A busy shop stands to the east, the mayor's house to the west, and the street continues north. The village entrance is to the south.
The mayor is clearly not a rich man, but he lives in comfort. Vines creep up the walls and newly opened flowers scent the air. The house is new and, oddly, looks a great deal like a converted barn. There is little else here, and you had best leave before the mayor comes home and finds you trespassing: even in a village this kind there is crime, and punishment. The street is back to the east.
This village takes its milk very seriously. The whole building, the largest milk shop you have ever seen, is given over to milk and things made of milk, and tiny porcelain cows line the shelves. The walls are painted off-white, so that it feels like standing inside a milk bottle. A sign is posted on the wall. The village street is back to the west.
Tiny homes stand on either side of the street, old but well kept, and the kindly people passing by make you want to stay forever. The smell of rain still hangs in the air. Horses whinny from the stables to the west, and to the east the street becomes a cart road at a split in the path. The heart of the village is to the south.
You pick your way around the piles of dung on the floor. Horse stalls line one wall, bales of hay another, and an empty office full of papers sits in the corner. The horses wait in their stalls for their riders, and the stable boy is nowhere to be seen; now would be a fine time to borrow a horse. A back door leads west behind the stables, and the village street is to the east.
The smell behind the stables is horrible; the dung heap must be close. The stable boy has found himself a pleasant spot back here all the same, and is napping in a small white hammock beside the hay bales. Shhh... you would not want to wake him. The flies are terrible, and you want very badly to get back inside to the east.
The mooing of cows is very close now. A rutted cart road runs east toward a farm, worn deep by years of heavy traffic: the local milk must come from there. A second path, much less used, wanders north into the hills, where it may be rough going. The village street is back to the west. Over the hills to the north a new storm front is gathering, and your mood begins to sink as you look at it.
The cart road runs east to a large farm set among rolling green hills, where little black and white figures mill about on the slopes. Smoke rises in a steady stream from a chimney nearby. Then the wind changes direction. ICK! It smells like a cow farm, all right. A muddy hollow lies just south of the road, and the split in the path is back to the west.
Rainwater has been collecting here for a long time, and you find yourself standing in the local mud pit, a favorite haunt of the village children and other things. A small muddy child leaps out of the mud at you, and a splash of black mud catches you full in the face. The cart road is back to the north.
You stand in front of a huge farm that stretches out all around you. These are simple folk, and men in full battle armor might scare them, so you slow down and enjoy the gentle breeze while it lasts: the clouds are moving in. The farmhouse is to the east, a chopping stump to the south, and the cart road back to the west.
A large pile of firewood is stacked here, and more hunks of wood are waiting to be chopped. An axe is buried in an old stump that serves as a chopping block; whoever was splitting all this wood left only moments ago. The thought of all that work makes you hungry. Maybe there is something to eat in the house? The farm yard is back to the north.
This must be the biggest supplier of milk in the area. Huge milk tanks stand outside, all but hiding the house, and a sign painted on them reads: Over 10 billion served! Much of the farm's land looks newly bought and not yet fenced. Loud arguing comes from inside the farmhouse to the south. The cow pastures open out to the east, and the farm yard is to the west.
The house seems much smaller inside. It is clean and well kept, and bric-a-brac of every kind covers the walls and tables: tacky, yet homey and familiar. An old man and an old woman stand here arguing about everything and anything. You would think they were about to kill each other, but watch a while and you see how much they love each other. A score board is tacked to the wall beside them. The farmboy's room adjoins to the east, and the front door leads north.
This small room, built onto the side of the farmhouse, is where the farmboy lives. There are no windows; the only light comes from candles on a table. It is immaculately clean. Hundreds of books are stacked on the shelves, and a space has been cleared for exercise and lifting weights. On the table lies a picture of America with an advertisement for work circled in ink, beside the framed picture of a beautiful girl. Even from here you can hear the old couple pestering each other in a symphony of love. A door leads out north to the pastures, and the house is to the west.
The pastures stretch away for miles, full of mooing, grazing cattle. The farmboy stands among them, milking and tending them gently. The clouds have parted just enough to let a little light fall on the scene, and the wind sends waves through the long grass. One of the cows lifts its head majestically and moos at you, and the farmboy looks up from his work to nod politely. The farmhouse front is to the west, and his room is to the south.
This path has been all but forgotten. Grass grows over it, and cobblestones jut up here and there, hard on feet and horses alike; nature is taking back what was once part of the hills. If the stories you have heard of the Dread Pirate Roberts, assassination plots and corrupt officials are true, this is the way to adventure. A rabbit bounces across your path. The path goes on north, and the split in the cart road is back to the south.
The path continues unused and neglected, and you trip over the odd stone. A cold wind blows down out of the hills, perhaps a sign of rain. The grass is higher than ever; an elephant could cross the path without your seeing it... hey, wait, there's one now. The path turns east here, and runs back south toward the village.
The path splits here. A light forest begins to the north, the overgrown path back to the village is to the west, and a half-built road heads east into the hills. The famous castle of Florin lies somewhere beyond the forest. You think of the sign near the village and its mention of a wedding; perhaps you should pay your respects. You also remember tales of the Fire Swamp and the Cliffs of Insanity. Perhaps the forest holds the prospect of high adventure.
The hills roll on and on. The new road ends abruptly here: its construction was halted by an untimely landslide that buried the way ahead under rock and mud. A cold fog has set in, and rain is falling over the hills beyond. Time to turn back west to the crossroads.
The forest quickly closes around you. The path winds on, though where exactly it goes you cannot tell; the brush all looks alike, and there are no maps. The carefree air of the village is gone, and a weight seems to settle on your chest. The path leads deeper into the trees to the east, and back south to the crossroads.
The forest grows darker as you press on: you are nearing the infamous Thieves' Forest. Your senses sharpen for any sign of danger. The birds have all but vanished, and their happy chirping is missed. The sky is heavy with the signs of rain. The path goes on north to a fork, and back west toward the edge of the forest.
The path has become a road of sorts, and it forks here. To the west it runs into the gloom of the Thieves' Forest, under clouds so dark and heavy that rain can already be heard there. To the east a fainter trail leads into a lighter wood, where the sky might be breaking up a little. The way back south is dark and forbidding, the path almost vanishing in the brush.
The trail leads from the fork into a lighter stretch of forest, where the sun pokes through the trees now and then. Brush and bramble have overgrown the way north, and the thorns on the vines seem to leap out at you; there would be the devil to pay forcing a way through. Beyond them the sky looks almost clear. The fork is back to the west.
You are on the edge of the Thieves' Forest. It is strangely quiet. The birds flit nervously from tree to tree, and the forest floor is oddly empty of animals. Clouds threaten rain, and a coldness has fallen over the land; you can feel hidden eyes looking you over, deciding whether you are a good mark. This is definitely not Sherwood Forest. But you must pass through it to reach the castle, and Buttercup, the most beautiful woman in the world. The road continues west, and the fork is back to the east.
The trail continues north. To the south it is blocked by brush and bramble; perhaps you could squeeze through, but it would be tough going, and the thorns don't look inviting. A deer stands at the edge of the trail. A cool, moist breeze blows down from the north: there must be a large body of water nearby.
The main road winds on to the west. A less used path leads south, and your judgment tells you south may not be very healthy for you: too many places for muggers to hide. The rain has burst from the clouds, and you are soaked and cold as the wind tears into you without mercy. The edge of the forest is back to the east.
The path ends abruptly in trees and thorny bushes; there is nowhere to go but back north the way you came. No bird sings here, and the place seems empty of animal life. A sudden breeze stirs the branches and a shiver runs up your spine. Move quickly: the last thing you need is to look lost in a place like this. You might become thief bait.
The trees have been cleared back a little here, and the road looks well traveled. Tiny birds chirp in the branches, and their chatter gives you confidence to go on; it is when they fall silent that there is trouble. The road continues west and east.
On this road you begin to feel a little safer. To the west it runs into a sparse village spread among the trees, and the brush has been cut low along the verges, giving a better view of anyone coming. Two lesser paths branch off, north and south, and both look far less respectable. The clearing is back to the east.
Another dead end. The trees swallow the path, and rock juts out of the earth at strange angles. The scent of blood rises on the wind, and a clinking like metal on metal fills the air. You can feel eyes on you, but you cannot tell from where. Time to go back north the way you came, fast.
The path leads north to a small cave and back south to the road. To the east a little cottage nestles deep in the trees, dark and uninviting. The branches hang low, filtering out what little light the clouds let through, and you feel eyes on you from every side. Someone is out there in the bramble, but who, and what do they want with you?
This little cave is hardly big enough for a few people, but it has been used recently, judging by the fresh fire pit. It is really just two huge pillars of fallen rock leaning together over a tiny hollow; it would keep off the rain, but the cold wind blows right through it. The path is back to the south.
An imposing sign at the front of the cottage reads, in huge letters: Keep Away! Obviously Max does not want to be disturbed. But you have come this far to see the famous miracle worker, fired by the king's son. The cottage door, to the east, is heavily reinforced and barred; crime around here must be terrible. Max peers fearfully at you through a peephole in the door. The path is back to the west.
The cottage is small. Max, out of work for years now thanks to the king's filthy son (as he keeps telling you), lives very modestly. There is little of interest here but the miracle worker himself and his wife. The cottage is dark and crammed to the rafters with oddities and knick-knacks: bats' wings, stuffed birds, even a black cauldron. The door is to the west.
There is surprisingly little activity at the edge of the Thieves' Village: no children running about, no dogs barking. Sheets of rain blur your sight, and deserted as it is, the village may at least offer some shelter. Strange, you think... then you notice a sign posted by the entrance. The village lies to the west, and the road back to the forest to the east.
Now in the village, you see groups of hefty men patrolling the street: the Brute Squad is aptly named. Apart from the brutes the village looks empty, but surely somebody is still here, hiding from the jail. The wind blows the rain into your face and stirs the rubbish on the ground, and its whistle is the only sound. The street continues west, and the entrance is east.
Yep, still deserted. You hope you can keep to the shadows and avoid the brutes. The cold is getting to you, and you have started arguing with yourself; the desolation makes a dreary day worse, and this Prince Humperdinck looks more and more like dog meat. A broken-down shanty stands to the north, and the street runs on west and east.
Not much is left of this place; whoever lived here did not want to be rounded up with the rest of the riffraff. Blood has dried into a puddle on the floor where the poor fellow was beaten before being dragged off. A cold wind tears at what is left of the thatch, and beetles scurry toward the drying blood for a quick snack. The street is back to the south.
You are nearing the far side of the village. Boy, this empty village is spooky. BOO! Ha, got you. Don't get jumpy now; you'll be out soon if you can keep avoiding the brute squad, or at least keep killing them and not yourself. The street runs west toward the castle road and back east. A looted shop stands to the south, and to the north is the village jail.
Not much is left here. With the shopkeeper gone, there was no one to keep the looters out; a few things still lie about, mostly rotten food and useless junk. The windows have been smashed, and even this once-warm place offers you no comfort. The street is back to the north.
Famous throughout the land for its great service and its really strong ale, Falkbridge's is empty; you wish you had come yesterday, when everyone was still here. The tales you might have heard... The great fireplace still gives some warmth and light, and the chairs look invitingly comfortable; a rest might be in order. Ale would be wonderful, but it is all gone, and the kindly proprietor Falkbridge with it. The door leads north to the road.
The road leaves the village here and runs west to the castle. You are really hot to have a little talk with this Humperdinck. To the south stands one of the most famous ale houses around, Falkbridge's Ale House; you have heard many a tale of the bar fights and adventurers' gatherings there. A pity the prince has closed it. Angry shouting carries from the direction of the castle. The village street is back to the east.
The castle rises before you to the west in all its power and majesty, the biggest you have seen in quite some time: towers of gray stone, and walls well over fifty feet high. Behind you, to the east, the Thieves' Village stands empty, awaiting the return of its people.
The castle road ends at a grove of trees. The castle gates are just to the south, and the road back to the Thieves' Village runs east. You remember old tales of a famous Zoo of Death in a grove like this one near the castle, where the Prince keeps hundreds of wild animals for his hunting pleasure, caged in a dungeon five levels deep. A door set into a low stone building to the west looks like the way in. A strange albino dwarf comes trundling in with a wheelbarrow, stops dead at the sight of you, and drops it. The Albino says 'Don't open the door, please.'
The fabled Zoo of Death: not much here but a flight of stairs, though you can smell animals below. Boy, this is fun, huh? Just like going hunting. Or perhaps being hunted. The stairs lead down, and the door back to the grove is to the east.
Well, that wasn't a smart move. The stairs end in a pit, and the pit is full of the Prince's hungriest beasts. The real zoo was never down these stairs at all. You are caught in a DEATH TRAP! Have a nice day.
A grand castle stands before you, decorated from top to bottom for the wedding celebration. The gatehouse to the south looks formidable, and the walls stretch away on either side, dwarfing you. One cannot help but admire the people who live here. The grove is back to the north.
You have dropped into the fifth and lowest level of the zoo. Torture devices of every kind fill this room, and you marvel at how many kinds of pain they can inflict. The darkness is broken only by your own light, which throws odd shadows on the walls until they seem to crawl. Grunting and other animal noises come from above, where the other four levels await. The trapdoor you fell through is far out of reach, but a ladder climbs up.
This is the Level of Fear, home to the worst beasts in the world, the oddest and most unique. Cages and glass cells line the walls of this massive room, and the creatures inside hiss and yelp at you, hungry for their late feeding. The doors of one cage have been ripped open, apparently by one of the hungrier beasts. Take care, friend. Ladders lead up and down, and the level continues east.
This is the level of poisonous things. Glass cells line the walls, and an almost real forest has been grown to imitate the habitats of the prisoners. Croaking comes from among the trees, which can mean only one thing: some of them have gotten out already, and might be looking for a tasty treat like you. You have been warned! Ladders lead up and down, and the level continues east.
Here are the beasts of strength, who will test even the strongest warrior. This level has not bothered with cages: the creatures could break out if they wanted, so they are allowed to roam free. That poses a little problem for you; there is nowhere to hide. Ladders lead up and down, and the level continues east.
These are the beasts of speed: strike quickly, lest they catch you sleeping on your feet. The room has been laid out as a vast plain, with grasses and low hills, and the cheetahs are at home here. But are you? The darkness is oppressive, and the echoes of the beasts below make it hard to concentrate. At least there is no rain in here. A ladder leads down, and another climbs up to a hatch into the grove above.
The gatehouse looms over your head. Before you to the south, closed tight, is a massive iron portcullis. In the ceiling above are the infamous murder holes, and you can smell the oil boiling up there: not a good place to fight. A score of men stand here ready to defend the castle against Guilder spies like you. Stairs climb up to the walls, and the way out is to the north.
There are no cages in this room, only a lonesome jet black pool in the middle of the floor. The bones of humans and large animals are heaped along the walls, the stench is rancid, and the walls are splattered with dark red stains. Whatever lives here, you do not want to be here at feeding time. The rest of the level is to the west.
This room has a distinct lack of light, which seems to press on you and slow your movement. Shadows dance on the walls, and strange animal noises give the place the quality of a nightmare. You cannot find any one creature; they seem to be all around you. The rest of the level is to the west.
The beasts here roam unchecked. A slit in the far wall is where the keeper feeds them from relative safety. A roar echoes all around you, and you clap your hands over your ears. Feet are approaching from at least two directions, and you know you are surrounded. The rest of the level is to the west.
The view from up here is just great; you can see the whole countryside. Northward the Channel of Florin glitters, with the Guilder frontier beyond it, and far off westward you can almost make out the Great Sea. Off eastward, past the Thieves' Forest, is the quaint little village where you began. Stairs lead down to the gatehouse.
Standing in the courtyard you notice how dark this castle is, almost foreboding in its massive shadows. It is decked out in full wedding regalia, ready for the guests. A soft crying drifts down from a window high above; it sounds like a young woman. A guard post stands to the east, the entrance to the castle proper is to the south, and the portcullis is back to the north.
A small guard post is here. The guards are on alert, but obviously hoping nothing happens. In fact they have gotten a little too friendly with the wine bottle, and joke drunkenly about how they could take the Dread Pirate Roberts, whoever the hell he is. These lousy drunks need a good thrashing. The courtyard is to the west.
At last you are inside the castle. A long, narrow corridor leads east and west, and directly before you to the south is the chapel where the wedding is to be held. You can still hear that crying, somewhere upstairs to the east, and from the west comes a noise you can't make out clearly: perhaps people running through the halls. The courtyard is back to the north.
The corridor ends at the foot of a broad stone stair, carpeted in royal red, that climbs up to the royal residences. The stone of the castle interlocks precisely; the craftsmanship is very good. The cold is all-enveloping and biting. The crying has stopped for the moment, though a strange mumbling drifts down from above. The corridor leads back west.
The hallway bends here, from east to south. The torches on the walls flicker as you pass, and your footsteps echo through the eerie halls. You can almost make out the sound now; it is strangely like a Spaniard repeating the same thing over and over: "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Hmm. That doesn't sound too cheery, does it?
The place is a mess. The room is warm from the fire burning in the oven, and fresh meat and vegetables are strewn about the floor among overturned pots and pans. Partly that is the rush of cooking a feast for a thousand guests, but it also looks as though there was a sword fight in here. Strange, that. More noise comes from the great dining hall to the west: "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." The hallway is back to the north.
The great hall is in shambles. Ornaments are overturned, some cut to pieces, and the tables have been tossed about. The chandelier is still swaying violently, throwing oddly shaped shadows over the whitewashed walls, and there is fresh blood on the walls and the stone floor. A very regal man cowers in a dark corner, obviously terrified of something. The kitchens are to the east.
This is a small private chapel, meant for the royal family and a few select guests; it could hold no more. It is all ready for the wedding, and a small priest stands before the altar preparing his sermon. He nods at you and says softly, "Mawidge is wot bwings us togevvah today... mawidge, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam wifin a dweam..." He goes on until you are just plain annoyed with him. The altar of solid marble is rather nifty. The corridor is back to the north.
The stair arrives in a hall with three doors, each of solid oak carved in relief, and each carved differently. The northern door bears a hunting scene, the eastern door the crest of the royal family, and the southern door is covered with flowers. The crying has started up again behind the southern door, and mumbling comes from the east. From the north there is only silence. The stair leads back down.
Here the prince has been plotting the murder of the princess and the coming war with Guilder; it is all written down in the papers he has carelessly left on his desk. The room is dark, and the few candles throw strange shadows on the walls. Anyone could be hiding in here and you would never know. The door is to the south.
This is the brightest room in the castle, almost a happy place, full of life and color. But a shadow lies over it: the most beautiful woman in the world is crying. It nearly brings you to your knees to see such loveliness in misery. She holds a dagger in her hand and seems to be thinking of using it on herself. After one has found true love and lost it, what more is there but death? The door is to the north.
Oblivious to everything around him, the old king sits here mumbling to himself and his queen. The most intelligible thing you can make out is "Humpermumble brumble buttercrumble mumble mumble." What on earth does that mean? His queen sits beside him, comforting him in his last few days. Now you see why the Prince was going to marry Buttercup: not for love, but because he needs an heir, and his father is not long for this world. Sad indeed. The door is to the west.
The trail turns west here. Southward you can barely make out the hills poking above the treetops. The clouds still threaten rain, but there is a ray of light ahead. The trees are young, mostly oak, and now and then a three-toed sloth crosses the path before you.
The trail runs east and west through woods that grow denser as you go, and the trees close in until you feel choked compared to the lighter forest behind. Through the trunks to the west you glimpse open water, wide as a sea. Now and then a Klingon crosses the path, grunting and grumbling about life.
The trail splits. West, a little dock stands at the water's edge, and a cold, moist breeze blows in from the channel. South, the forest closes in tightly and the clouds darken again; nothing seems to grow down there but trees. The trail back east leads to the safety of the lighter woods.
An eerie quiet has settled here. There are no more birds, the sky is darkening fast, and the trees have crowded out every other living thing; the forest floor is littered with leaves and little else. It is so quiet you can hear yourself think, and a stench like decaying flesh hangs on the air. It grows stronger to the east. The trail is back to the north.
There is a clearing here in the middle of the forest, and now you know where the stench comes from: a pile of dead bodies as high as your shoulder (or, for dwarves and gnomes, as high as your head and then some). At the far end of the clearing is a tiny cave, not even big enough for a dwarf. What could possibly live in there? All you can see is a poor, innocent bunny, completely out of place. He must be the next item on whatever-it-is's dinner list. The way out is to the west.
The Channel of Florin lies before you to the north, almost two and a half miles wide; you could never hope to swim it, and you will need a boat. Westward the channel widens into a great inland sea, and just across the water the Cliffs of Insanity rise sheer from the waves. A broken old sign stands here. Lying almost unnoticed beside it is a strip of fabric torn from a guard's tunic, though not in the colors of Florin's soldiers... Guilder, you think to yourself! The trail leads back east into the woods.
The channel has a fairly strong current, and it bears you west toward the great inland sea. To the east the channel runs on toward the Cliffs of Insanity. Now and then you think you see dark shadows gliding quickly beneath the surface. You have heard about the screaming eels and deadly sharks that infest these waters, but you never believed the stories until now.
Still more water. The Cliffs of Insanity are just to the east; they rise up before you, blocking out the sun and casting a permanent shade over this stretch of the channel. Those shapes beneath the water are still there, and they look BIG. Now and then they come close enough to the surface to raise waves that knock you about. The channel runs west toward the sea.
The roaring of the rolling sea fills the air, a song of violence and confusion. Deep water and strong winds make this one of the most dangerous seas in all the realms, and it has claimed many an unfortunate soul. The shore lies back to the west, and the open sea opens out to the north.
Here the Channel of Florin pours out into the Trackless Sea, and the waters churn where the current meets the waves. The channel lies to the east, the open sea continues north, and back to the south the sea runs in toward the shore.
The roaring of the rolling sea fills the air, a song of violence and confusion. Deep water and strong winds make this one of the most dangerous seas in all the realms, and it has claimed many an unfortunate soul. The coast road runs along the shore to the north, and the sea stretches away to the east.
Every direction looks the same: an endless watery desert of rolling waves and salty mist, stretching as far as the horizon allows. A tiny island breaks the waves to the west, a single palm tree standing on it. The sea runs back to the south.
The roaring of the rolling sea fills the air, a song of violence and confusion. Deep water and strong winds make this one of the most dangerous seas in all the realms, and it has claimed many an unfortunate soul. Through the spray to the west you can make out a grotto in the rocks, with a few masts showing above it. The sea continues north and south.
This small grotto at the edge of the sea has become the harbor of the Dread Pirate Roberts. His ship is not here now, but a good company of sailors has been left to guard his treasure. These pirates are ruthless and will kill on sight; watch your back! A dark figure slinks in the shadows behind them, sees you, and screams at them to get you. The pirates race toward you shouting the Dread Pirate's name. The open sea is to the east.
A small, forgotten island is lost here in the sea, abandoned by the centuries. A single palm tree sticks up from the sand, with coconuts lying all about it. An old skeleton also lies here; the poor fellow must have gotten lost at sea like you. You hope you don't meet a similar fate. The open sea is to the east.
You float at the foot of the Cliffs of Insanity, a thousand feet below their top. It is a really long way up; just trying to see the top gives you a crick in the neck. You can try your luck climbing up, or go on east around the cliffs and hope for a safer way into the Guilder frontier. The channel also runs west toward the sea.
The channel bends north here to round the cliffs. As it narrows the current picks up and throws you about, and you hold on for dear life. A small dock stands on the southern shore. The cliffs are to the west; it sure seems safer to keep looking for a place to land than to climb them.
To the east is a small bay that looks like a fine place to put in and rest. You are past most of the cliffs now, and the land on the far shore looks more manageable. To the south the channel twists back toward the Great Sea. And those darn shapes in the water are still there. ACK!
You have found a quiet little bay, a place to drop anchor and explore the Guilder frontier. A large black ship floats in the water here, and it does not look friendly. As you size it up, pirates leap from its rails and attack! They look desperate, and there will be no reasoning with them. A light forest begins on the shore to the north, and the channel lies to the west. To the east a spit of land runs out to a lonely point.
You have come to the end of the known world. Congratulations! You feel safe here, as if you could rest with impunity. WOW, what a view, you think to yourself. Eel Bay is back to the west.
This cliff is very high and very hard to climb. Even with a fly spell you would need to haul yourself up hand over hand. The rock is sharp and jagged, and your hands are already bleeding. Above you is a long way yet to go; below, well, let's just say a fall would really hurt. There isn't much chance of turning back now. You keep climbing up.
It has taken a lot of work and you are exhausted, but you are very close to the top now, perhaps only three hundred feet to go. You dare not look down; the dizzying height could give you vertigo, and seven hundred feet down would not be pleasant. You climb on up, hoping the cliff doesn't break off under your weight.
The forest here is light, easy traveling. Northward it darkens and closes in fast; the legendary Fire Swamp just does not seem to want to admit you, and that is all the better, since it is so safe and nice here. Why would you want to leave? Eel Bay is to the south.
With a heavy sigh you slump to the ground, exhausted. That climb took a lot out of you, your hands are bleeding, and you think you need your head examined for trying it. The wind is strong up here and bites through your clothes with a shivering cold. The ruins of some ancient stone building lie about you; nothing stands more than a foot high now but a few massive boulders. Footprints are everywhere, as if a great battle had been fought here. A path leads north among the boulders, and to the west a man is practicing with a sword.
Here stands a tall, gaunt Spaniard. He looks a formidable fighter, and carries a strange sword of great beauty. As you approach you see he is practicing against imagined foes, and his skill eclipses yours by a huge margin: he must be the greatest swordsman since the death of the Corsican Wizard! He notices you, nods, and beckons you to join him in a duel. A lookout point is to the north, and the top of the cliffs to the east.
This outcropping of rock on the edge of the cliffs offers the greatest view you have yet seen; the whole country of Florin spreads out below you to the south. You feel a warmth inside; it really feels good to be alive. A pretty little flower grows here, looking lonely. The path is to the east, and the duelling ground back to the south.
A rocky path leads north and south. Boulders jut from the hard earth, and it amazes you that anything lives here, but a tall grass covers the ground wherever there is no rock. Three sets of footprints lead north: a giant's, a dwarf's, and a woman's, as though she were being dragged. The lookout point is to the west.
The rocky path turns east here. The rocks in this area are almost white instead of the usual gray, which makes the bloodstain on one of them all the more visible: old and brown now, but definitely blood. One large white rock to the north looks as if it has been moved more than once. The skies are gray and cold, and the grass is in dire need of mowing. The path also leads back south.
Herein lies a bunch of nifty stuff dropped by a really nice guy. Well, actually there is a corpse here; the poor fool probably decided to die with his loot rather than give it up. Now that you are here he won't get to keep the stuff he died for. The way out is south.
The path continues north and west. The rocks are getting very big; you could hide a small Romulan warbird behind one and no one would notice. You put up your guard in case of an ambush. The footprints continue north, so at least you are still on the right path.
Something whizzes past your head and smashes against the boulder beside you. There is a noise from behind the rocks, and a huge giant of a man jumps out (see, you could hide just about anything back there). He says calmly, "Vizzini says I must kill you. I am sorry. If you don't struggle it won't hurt as much." Then, "At least I warned you first; just crushing your head with that rock would have been unsporting." He closes in and attacks. The path continues east, and back south.
You are finally out of the rocks, and the path slopes down through grassy hills to the north. You have lost the trail of footprints in the grass, but they must have gone this way. The sun is out now, the clouds are breaking apart, and a beam of light touches your face and warms you. The rocks are back to the west.
A large, hilly meadow stretches out before you. Wouldn't you love to roll around in the tall grass and have a pleasant little picnic? The meadow continues north and east. You think you hear voices to the northeast, but you can't be sure; the wind plays tricks. A social butterfly flutters about and tries to land on your nose, and being the meanie you are, you brush it away. The way back to the rocks is south.
This really is a very pleasant meadow. The weather looked bad at first, but it has cleared, and the sun shines down through the clouds, warming your bones and your heart. The voices are coming from the east. The meadow continues south.
A small picnic cloth has been laid out here, and sitting on a rock beside it is a little Sicilian man. He looks at you arrogantly and says, "I am no match for your sword, and you are no match for my mind, so we are at an impasse, I believe..." You decide he looks ugly enough that you should just go ahead and kill him for the heck of it. The meadow lies to the west and south.
You stand high on a ridge overlooking a gorge far below, where trees rise from its eastern edge. The slope down is very steep, lined with rocks; one could really be hurt going down here. For a moment there seems to be movement in the valley, tiny shadows, and then they are gone. Farther along the ridge to the east looks like a safer place to try a descent. You think you hear a woman's voice scream in fear. The meadow lies north and west.
You look down the slope and see where someone must have crawled down to the valley floor. The slope is gentler here, with fewer rocks, and the grass will cushion your descent a bit. You could certainly try going down, but there is no guarantee you could get back up again. The air has warmed, and a low fog covers the valley. The ridge runs back west.
OUCH! That fall to the valley floor really hurt, and you won't be climbing back up that slope. You had better find another way out. The valley runs east and west. Trees rise to the east, and the temperature down here has risen greatly. There is no sign of life but the occasional fly; the valley is mostly barren rock and low grass, deep in the shadow of its walls.
Well, here you are at the end of the valley. A massive wall of rock rises before you, blocking the way. The valley floor is barren and lonely, apart from the rocks that litter the ground. Looking back east you see the swamp-like forest in the distance. This looks like an OK place to rest before the trek into the infamous Fire Swamp...
A massive swamp with ancient trees of enormous height towers before you to the north. A terrible smell of sulfur hangs in the air, the sun cannot get through the canopy, and darkness closes around you. A heavy mist covers the ground. You remember the tales of the Fire Swamp from your youth: the Snow Sand, also called Lightning Sand, which has sucked many an unsuspecting soul down to their death; the R.O.U.S.'s, famous for their blood lust; and the Flame Spurts. You may not survive this. Keep on your toes and move quickly. The valley is back to the west.
You have entered the most deadly place in the world. The Fire Swamp has claimed more lives than most fiftieth-level half-giant warriors. The sulfur fumes are so thick you can hardly breathe, and a heavy white mist hides the tree roots underfoot. The trees loom over you; at least you will have a shady grave. The swamp goes on to the west, and the edge of the swamp is back to the south.
A popping sound comes from the ground at your feet, and a moment later a column of flame spurts up from the mud and roars as high as the trees before dying away. Then another, and another. The trick, you decide, is to listen for the pop. The swamp continues east and west through the sulfurous mist.
The trees here are the oldest and largest yet, their roots knotted into a tangle that makes every step a struggle. The mist is so thick you can barely see your own hands, and somewhere in it something large is moving. The swamp continues east and west.
It's Snow Sand! Run, QUICK, before you are sucked in! The fine, pale sand shifts under your feet, and you feel yourself beginning to sink. Firm ground lies just beyond the sand to the south, and the swamp is back to the north. Don't stop moving!
The ground here is riddled with burrows, some of them big enough to crawl into, and the bones of small animals (and some not so small) lie scattered around them. You hope whatever dug them is not home. To the south the mist thins over a patch of fine, pale sand. The swamp continues east.
By some incredible chance you have found your way out of the Fire Swamp. You now have a tale to tell your grandchildren, if they believe you. To the south lies a pleasant forest and, beyond it, the familiar Channel of Florin. You are safe! Take a deep breath. Somehow you feel a presence here, almost as an afterthought: something or someone is with you. The snow sand is back to the north.
That really hurt. You were warned to keep moving fast. You feel your body sucked down into the soft sand, which quickly closes over you; you try to struggle free, but your writhing only makes you sink faster. In time you cannot hold your breath any longer, and as your mouth opens the sand pours in.
This is where the Brute Squad keeps the people it rounds up. The cells hold the worst of the worst, they say: murderers, cutthroats, Elvis look-alikes. Most of them stand empty now, their doors hanging open, and the straw on the floors is still warm. Every so often a dark figure comes to choose a few more of the prisoners for the Brute Squad. The street is to the south.
A vast meadow stretches out before you in all directions. The meadow is dotted with low sloping hills and wild flowers. The new green grass feels soft and cool beneath your feet, and the warm sunlight heats your bones and relaxes you. An ancient oak tree stands here atop a small hill, all alone in the meadow providing a refreshing shade. A cool breeze flutters through the leaves of the oak, arousing a small yellow bird who begins to chirp a haunting, song of beauty and sadness. This is a place of rest and meditation.